Emptiness in a Crowded Room
by writermarie
Summary: Waiting is the hardest--Jed and Abbey's POV of Zoey's kidnapping and the immediate aftermath


Title: "Emptiness in a Crowded Room" Author: Marie E. Rossiter (writermarie2002@yahoo.com) Spoilers: Through "Dogs of War"-Season Five Rating: PG-13 Notes: Continuation of the "reaction" collection of stories I started-Ellie and Liz  
have been covered so far  
  
I've lost track of how many hours it has been. Does that make me a terrible father? The fact that it's been hours as opposed to days seems totally wrong. Between the lack of sleep and the fact that the natural laws of time and space have seemed to collapsed, who could blame me for losing count?  
  
"Abbey?" She's sitting about as far away from me as is physically possible. Although we're in the same room, she seems a world away.  
  
Nothing but silence from that end of the world.  
  
Who could blame me? I know at least one person...  
  
**************************************************  
  
I knew it was ludicrous as soon as it came out of my mouth. Of course he couldn't consult me on his plans to assassinate Shareef. I'm not a member of his foreign policy team. I am not sought after for consultation on the making of policy by his administration. I realize I shouldn't expect to be consulted about policy in this administration.  
  
I do, on the other hand, expect to be consulted-or at least told before the entire world knows-at the possible reason our daughter was taken from us.  
  
No, I don't expect that. I demand it. He promised after screwing me about the re-election fiasco that I'd never find out about things like this from reporters or staffers.  
  
When will I ever learn?  
  
I hear him calling me, and I wish to God I couldn't. If I don't hear him, then I can't be disappointed-again.  
  
**************************************************  
  
Given the choice between chaos and silence, I'd choose chaos every time. In chaos, I thrive. I love being able to take the mess and creating order. Seemingly random bits of information join together to make messages that are so clear: they are just waiting for the right person to come along who can say, "Ah ha! You think you have everyone fooled! But, not me! The calm voice and cool head of reason has arrived."  
  
This is one of the few times I have been unable to make sense of the chaos.  
  
"Abbey?"  
  
I know she hears me. She doesn't even flinch when I call her name, though.  
  
I removed myself from office because I knew that I couldn't solve the chaos going on that is otherwise known as our government.  
  
I'm not doing a great job at all with the chaos here, either. Not even close.  
  
************************************************** I never intentionally try to put our daughters in the middle of whatever spat Jed and I are having. Lord knows we've had enough go 'rounds that I don't need anyone running blockade for me.  
  
Tonight, though, if Liz and Ellie weren't here, my husband wouldn't be the only Bartlet ordering the assassination of a high powered official.  
  
I prayed for compassion and for understanding. I prayed for the ability to find forgiveness within my heart.  
  
How can I find anything in a heart that is in pieces: shattered from a seemingly endless string of broken promises and missing a large part of what makes it whole?  
  
Finding forgiveness there is like finding a needle in a haystack.  
  
We both sit and watch the television. And, while we watch the same thing, I have to wonder if we both have the same purpose.  
  
I am looking for news on Zoey-any shred of information that might bring her closer to home and into my arms.  
  
And Jed? While I'm sure he's looking for some of the same things as I am, I have to wonder.is it Zoey that keeps him glued to the television-  
  
Or is it news about how Walken is doing in "his" job?  
  
****************************************************  
  
Twenty nine and three quarter hours.  
  
That's how long she's been gone. Somehow, I managed to figure it out in spite of the haze that has become my existence.  
  
However, I still can't put a number on how long it has been since Abbey has spoken to me.  
  
How long can we sit in a room together and not say anything to one another? I mean, we are both stubborn, but this is bordering on absurdity. Now is the time we should be together: supporting each other.  
  
But, the gap grows wider by the second.  
  
Even our daughters, who usually try to talk to fill the voids their mother and I have created over the years, either sit or pass through without an utterance.  
  
It seems as though the Bartlets have taken a vow of silence. No one dares say a word. We all know a fragile peace lies in the balance.  
  
We need peace now.  
  
With war looming against Qumar, and an even more intense battle brewing in this room, peace seems like a sensible thing to strive for.  
  
Yet, I cannot resist the urge to violate this unspoken treaty. I am willing to risk the façade of peace to settle at least one difference of which I have control.  
  
"Abbey, please..how long is this going to last?" I try to ask calmly, but the words sound more like a plea.  
  
The girls look at Abbey, who is finally shifting her vacant gaze in my direction.  
  
As she takes a breath in what seems like an answer, I know that whatever it is she has to say, she's been saving up for quite some time.  
  
This will be painful. I hold onto the chair to deaden the blow.  
  
**********************************************************  
  
Hateful things. Angry things flood my mind and heart as I take in a deep, slow breath. I've been waiting for this moment since.I can't remember when. From when Zoey was taken? That would make sense, but there is something that tells me that this pain has been buried for far longer than that. Zoey's disappearance was simply the catalyst to bring this awful mixture to a boil.  
  
But before the words can attack, the door swings open and agents are everywhere.  
  
"Sir, we have her!" they cry.  
  
*********************************************************  
  
For a split second, when we climb on board Marine One, I almost think to ask how we get to use it. I mean, I'm not the president any more. At least, officially. But, I hear someone mention it's the fastest way to wherever we're going and the question seems pointless.  
  
The Concorde, in my mind, wouldn't be fast enough to get us there.  
  
********************************************************************  
  
As Marine One lands, I see endless cars, people and lights covering the once darkened landscape. Only the shadows cast by the powerful lights prove that it's the dead of night. The copter barely touches down and I'm up and out of my seat. Words fail me, but I look at the agents.  
  
"Open the doors!" one calls out loudly, over the sounds of the props.  
  
Before I am sure it safe, we are out and running. People, I think, are saying things. I don't give a shit about the words. I want my daughter!  
  
*******************************************************************  
  
The only words that stick out in my head are "No sign of sexual injury." That stands out in a father's mind-and makes my guts want to leap into my throat.  
  
But, then, it's one word that pierces the night and drowns out the rest of the chaos around us.  
  
*********************************************************************  
  
"ZOEY!"  
  
*********************************************************************  
  
I stand slightly back and let Abbey and the girls go to her. It's not that I don't want to see her. I'm right there with them. It's just.  
  
The bruises-the state of confusion in her eyes. I can barely look at her.  
  
And what can I say to make these last thirty hours-the look on her face--go away?  
  
Not a thing.  
  
I never understood what it meant to be utterly powerless. Until now.  
  
*********************************************************************  
  
The hospital room should seem crowded. People are coming in and out: mostly agents, nurses and doctors. Then, of course, there's the girls and Charlie, not to mention the scores of flowers, balloons and other gifts of well wishes.  
  
Yet, the room feels conspicuously empty to me. I look out the window in search of something that's been missing for even longer than my daughter was gone.  
  
"Ma'am?" I hear Charlie say.  
  
"Mm?"  
  
"It's on," he says, turning up the volume of the television.  
  
I don't even turn around to watch.  
  
I don't listen-because if I don't, then I can't hear him, and then I can't be disappointed-again.  
  
End 


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